What Now?
by RavenclawReality
Summary: I had done it. I cleared my mind of emotions, morality, and consequences, and killed Albus Dumbledore. But instead of feeling an all-powerfulness, a sense of strength and glory, all I could feel was an overwhelming sense of "What now?" A Draco Malfoy AU oneshot


**AN: I don't own Harry Potter. This is an AU, so yes, I changed the canon. I know I took liberties with the time period, and it doesn't all apply to '97 when this would be taking place, but hear me out. In the beginning of the Half-Blood Prince movie, the Millennium Bridge was destroyed, when it would not have been created at that point in the time it takes place. I'm tagging the story with "movies" for universe so that my it does line up to something somewhat canon. Really, I forgot about the year when I wrote it and didn't want to get rid of my favorite part, so just bear with me here, okay?**

I was sent home from Hogwarts. I didn't go to Azkaban- my father took care of _that_- but I _did _have to leave school. It was very strange, being praised for expulsion.

I endured that strangeness for a day. My entire family came over, and we had a record setting dinner in terms of decadence. Wine, candles, music, three different types of forks at every place setting... And a toast to my name. A clinking of glasses. A gentle sound to contrast the screams that split through the summer air just the night before.

* * *

A couple of months ago, Uncle Rodolphus sat me down in the parlour to teach me about the killing curse. To use it successfully, you have to clear yourself of emotions. You can't think about the consequences. You can't think about the morality. You just do it.

And that's exactly what I did. I did everything I was told.

I spent my entire sixth year focused on my goal. Learn to use the killing curse. Kill Professor Dumbledore. No feelings, no consequences, no morals, just do it.

* * *

When I was successful, I got a handshake from Professor Snape and a kiss on the lips from Pansy Parkinson.

It was over. No feelings, no consequences, no morals. I had done it.

My mission was over. I got my reward and all the accompanying praise. But instead of feeling an all-powerfulness, a sense of strength and glory, all I could feel was an overwhelming sense of "What now?"

* * *

Two days after the green flash left my wand, I did nothing. I sat in my room. I picked up a book and stared at the cover. I put it back down. I picked up another book, but I did not even bother to stare at it.

It's interesting, how all the best adventure stories end. The hero slays the monster and puts his sword back in its sheath. The town rejoices and he gets the girl. His name goes down in history, and then his tale is complete. I never put much thought into it; it just seemed like a natural place to end. Now I know why.

* * *

Three days after the death of my headmaster, I ran away from home.

Well, running away wasn't my original intention. I wanted to take a walk. A walk as far away from possible from the world I knew- from the world that knew me. I apparated to London. Of course, I've been to London plenty of times, but not this part. This was Muggle London. Yes, I know, that place is forbidden to me, but so are Unforgivable Curses, and I was forgiven nonetheless. Maybe some exploring could rid me of the discomfort that surrounded me. It wasn't guilt I was feeling, nor was it regret. I was perfectly happy with what I did, even proud of it, and would not change a thing. I just felt uneasy with every moment of my life thereafter.

So I decided to go exploring, to blend in with a crowd of hundreds of people who were perfectly content with their inferior abilities and lack of knowledge. Every Muggle I passed knew nothing more than what they were doing, and each of them perfectly content with that.

I sampled music at the local bookstore, I drank vanilla coffee, and I figured out why Muggles always look inexplicably happy. Muggle life always struck me as incredibly difficult- how do they accomplish anything in a day if they have to complete all of their tasks by hand without the aid of magic? But all the Muggle inventions are so geared toward comfort and satisfaction, it's impossible not to relax.

After an entire afternoon of pondering and perusing, there was only one shop left to browse: the electronics store. I'd been putting it off all day. Saving it, I convinced myself. In truth, I was somewhat nervous. There was not Wizarding equivalent to an electronics store, nothing I could compare it to.

I opened the door slowly, tentatively, then stepped in all at once. Immediately, the amount of action and light in one area overwhelmed me. There seemed to be less air in the room, and what little air there was smelled of citrus, plastic, and chemicals. The glass windows that went floor to ceiling did not make me feel free, but trapped, and watched. The shininess of everything and lack of all colours but white and clear made me uncomfortable in my black jeans, and afraid to touch anything because one fingerprint could ruin the eerie pristinely of the whole room.

Employees in blue shirts with outlines of fruit on them swerved through the crowds, listening to people complain about how all their pieces of Muggle spy-gear or whatever they were didn't work and asking about insurance policies. I listened in on a couple of the conversations, barely following. It's a known fact that Muggles talk much quicker than wizards, though they have little to say.

One conversation in particular, though, caught my attention. A smart-looking man around my height in his twenties calmly explained to a hyper employee that every single one of his devices would turn off after only five minutes of use. The screens would change colour, they made noises he had never heard, once something like "Muddles beware" appeared on a screen. The attendant jabbered on for a while, babbling about using proper "chargers" and asking if they had been near water (these things need water? But they're not alive, right?). Eventually it was revealed that none of the man's gadgets were insured, and that was the end of the conversation.

It seemed impolite- even for a Muggle- that the worker had pushed this man away, but that was not what grabbed me. This was a wizard prank. I recognized it. The ministry even had to pass a new law to make the trick illegal with its recent growing popularity.

I don't know what made me do it, but I decided to approach this man. Maybe it was the feeling of liberation that came from being on my own, or maybe it was some sort of mind control technique in the weird bright lights on the ceiling. Whatever made me do it, I went up to him without too much thought, and once I did it there was no going back.

"Hey, sorry about that guy, I know they're always in such a rush around these places." I have no idea if they're always in such a rush around these places. They look like they are, unless it's some kind of holiday, and the man didn't seem to question the statement so I'll assume it's correct.

"Yeah man, I know. No big deal though," he replied, unshaken by the fact that I was a complete stranger.

"So I sort of overheard, and I think I might be able to fix your problem. You know, with the turning off and the sounds and stuff," I replied. Muggles speak with an uncommittedness about them, using "sort of"s and "I thinks" and "a bit"s all over the place. I've heard it from the Muggle-borns at Hogwarts. Of course, I've always found it undignified, but I never realized how difficult it is. Personally, I think I was doing a pretty good acting job.

"Thanks, that'd be cool man," he spoke on. "What's your name?" He stuck out his hand.

"I'm Dra- Drake," I answered, conscious that my handshake was firm to make up for my stutter. Best not to give him anything out of the ordinary, or something that would connect him to who I am.

"What's up, Drake, I'm Michael. So what do you know about my phone?" Michael reached into his back pocket and pulled out a solid black rectangle. I'm not sure how else to describe it, really. He could hold it in one hand, and there was a shiny bit that was lit up and fading through different colours, and some buttons whose purposes were not clearly labeled on them.

I took the device in one hand, and kept the other hand in my pocket on my wand. "Um, yeah, I can fix this… You just have to, um, press this button here, then that one… try holding it down if it doesn't work." I reduced my voice to a mumble as I flipped the thing over, pressing buttons. I managed to work in the spell to remove the charm on it in between a "tap this twice" and a "maybe turn it off and on again". "There," I handed Michael back his "phone". "Should be working perfectly now."

Michael took it back and pressed a few more buttons, looking impressed. "That's incredible," he breathed. "You're like a tech _wizard_."

_What? _I had to gather my thoughts and make a decision that it was a common phrase and I should avoid reacting all in one second. "A little bit, I guess." It is interesting that Muggles use "Wizard" as a compliment, though apparently they don't know about us.

"Hey, I know this is a little weird, cause we just met and stuff, but do you think you could come over and take a look at some of my other stuff? It's all been doing the same thing as this. Maybe you could fix it?" He asked casually.

It was dangerous, and it was irrational, but I nodded and told him I would. It was my day to live a different life, wasn't it?

* * *

Michael lived two blocks away. He explained to me that he walks everywhere, and likes the exercise. His flat was small, but trendy, and held everything he needed in what would be one room at Malfoy Manor.

"You live alone?" I asked him once inside, as I pretended to tinker with what I was fairly sure was a television. I wondered if the question was indecent, but he didn't think so.

"Yeah. I finished uni and I don't think I could face her anymore. I didn't want to get one of the jobs she liked, wanted to do what I liked, you know? I was in a little dingy place before this, could barely pay my taxes. Got in some trouble over that, I even got locked up overnight once for a ticket. I spent a week or two homeless, and apparently I've got a criminal record. But I'm pretty good now." He seemed to be talking more to himself than to me, lost in his own thoughts, but I took in every word. "What about you, why are you on your own?"

This was not at all what I expected. Michael looked so clean, so smart. He seemed happy with his life, as his past had no effect on him. Maybe this is what it was like for Muggles. Maybe I should come here more often.

"I had to kill this guy. Not really my choice, more like the government, annoying parents, you know?" I rambled, still looking at wires.

"What?" he said in an stone cold voice, rising to his feet. "You killed someone?"

"Oh, it wasn't that big of a deal, it was just that—"

"Get out of my house. Now. _Get out or I will call the police!"_

"OBLIVIATE!"

And then I apparated back home.

* * *

I find it pathetic that I needed a Muggle to teach me a lesson.

This sitting around at home, this not knowing what to do with myself, will become my life, I know it. Maybe I'll wind up in a position of power one day, maybe really soon. But I will always be the man who murdered Albus Dumbledore.

I do not regret killing him. It needed to be done. But I do regret clearing my mind. I do regret my motto of "no feelings, no consequences, no morals". Especially "no consequences". Because there are many. I may not go to Azkaban. I may even be a hero. But this act will follow me around for the rest of my life. I removed a human being from this earth, and that should not be a mindless act. I will never be the same again, and I will never be regarded in the same way, even by Muggles. I am a killer, and now that can never be changed.

* * *

**Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Round 9, as a Keeper for the Chudley Cannons. **


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